The Quality Of His Mind, By Which He Accepts

  That part meant nothing to Guard-Captain Medant Denmarof. The Lommad campaign alone did, and therefore the ways in which the state government of Enpasatosalkir insisted on hobbling it. That august body had decided not to waste its resources trying to prevent Mr. Atkosol from fielding a private army or using it against fairies who had not paid taxes in centuries, not to mention never voted. It did however warn that it would consider all of its citizens and out-of-state visitors to be entitled to the usual legal protections against being killed by rich people, which were far more stringent than satirical publications pretended. The injunction applied even to volunteers in a foreign army. Medant was therefore free to execute any battle plan he liked only so long as he harmed no humans in the sight of witnesses.

  Of course, the state did not declare a few guidelines and let the matter lie for all that several members of its Entet suggested that very course. People across the confederation and in some cases beyond it worried for their idiotic acquaintances who had rushed to the fairy zone, and some of them had the means to pay rewards for a safe moron extraction. The state Entet assigned Deputy Mayor Paosolt as his second responsibility the task of connecting sponsors to rescuers.

  Most of the mercenaries in the area endeavored over the intervening weeks to relieve the disquiet of those people who suffered from excess anxiety and money, all with Mr. Atkosol's permission given only after he had consulted his general.

  “My sole condition is that they muster when I call for them. Anyone who breaches such an oath is not wanted in any case.” Medant did not begrudge those who accepted the condition their extra payouts, a good thing since he would have exhausted his grudge stores immediately. He himself did not participate. The idea of pursuing jobs while under contract reminded him of the sorts of condottieri employers were warned not to hire.

  “I've never disagreed with someone so much. Even when people throw things at me and so, I've been able to see their side of it,” Kodol “Pots” Hinpabafnoren, just entering the cafeteria, said in response to something Medant stated which Dirant had already forgotten amid all his reflecting. “This war has gone on almost exactly long enough. The local broadsheets have nearly run through every point of interest, the foreigners are picking it up, and everyone's ready for a big event that will upend the situation like a lonely giant.” He threw one of the aforementioned foreign broadsheets on the table.

  “Is that a saying?” Takki whispered to Dirant.

  “About the lonely giant? If so, I am unaware of it.”

  “Ah, this is from Yean Defiafi,” said Aptezor Ristaofen from a neighboring table. “May I read this? I have been trying to improve my Desurvyai (Basic) and my understanding of the Yean publishing world together. It is important for any reporter to understand the continental scene.”

  “That's the first thing you've ever been right about in your life. Don't get weak about it though. You have plenty more life. Here, check this article.” Kodol tapped his finger for the benefit of his junior.

  “There's an interview here. It's with the eminent and charming widow Desozmingen Jeon. Ah! She is the aunt of Doltandon Yurvitas.” The halting progress Aptezor made through the piece lent it the air of an archaeological excavation, and the listeners leaned closer in order to claim later they were present when the famous potsherds were discovered. “The interviewer asks her opinion on the rumors. She says, more or less, that she believes them, because rising to become the most trusted general of a fairy queen despite having no previous experience as a military officer is just what anyone should expect from a Doltandon. She then says she has complete confidence he will do great things for the queen, that she looks forward to settling her fortune on him, and this last part . . . I think she's trying to hint that anyone who hasn't spent time in a fay court isn't worth much.”

  “When the moral comedy based on this incident is composed, certain details ought to be changed for genre suitability,” Dirant said.

  “If you rolled up this broadsheet around a stick and beat him with it, would it still be a moral comedy, or would that be too funny?” asked Takki.

  “That wouldn't be funny,” Aptezor insisted. “It's how it should be.”

  “So it's perfect for a moral comedy after all? Huh.” Takki tapped her pen on the table. “I hoped to relate to my father some of the revisions to northern and north-central history being proposed because of the incessant revelations here, but I don't think there have been any.”

  Indeed there had not. Hwohyesu confessed to the same frustration in his letters. He was on the verge of giving up the business altogether, he said, and in response Atkosol suggested a short hiatus from fairy interviews. Other avenues of study were available, and he hoped Mr. Hwohyesu might have something new to say about an increasingly salient one on account of his extensive knowledge, his incisive intellect capable of dividing the essential from the inessential, and not being a Symbol Knight.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A tour was arranged immediately upon Hwohyesu's acceptance. If Ishtu learned of it, he might have grunted and gone back to carving a duck call out of wood, but on the other hand, he might have taken exception. For that reason Guard-Captain Medant arranged a confidential escort which included no person of unproved discretion. He was unsure he belonged on the right side of that category, but orders were orders. He picked out a few mercenaries on bad terms with the reporters (mostly over petty loans), Dirant, Takki, Taomenk Genarostaf who evinced interest in the subject, a certain Erjjub who was the most reliable ferry fairy aside from Lommad (whose movements attracted scrutiny), and finally the sole available expert, Symbol Knight Gabdirn Haubentlag.

  For Hwohyesu to sneak away required no great subterfuge. He simply said he was going somewhere and walked to the border where Erjjub met him. Soon the expedition assembled and moved toward Cowsick Point in the early evening when half of the workers, whether in the camp, Lommad City, or Ividottlof, were at home while members of the other half were already struggling to remember where their homes were.

  “You saw the Point before, Mr. Hwohyesu.” Neither the phrasing nor the intonation expressed a question on Gabdirn's part, but Hewekers expected people to respond boldly whatever the prompt.

  “I did.” The commonalities between Zeuhyas and Hewekers, never before suspected, revealed themselves. “It befell that I didn't go through anything I've been told about it. I was surprised.”

  “How fared it for you?”

  “I touched the marker. I hope that's allowed? I touched the marker, felt I was falling, and events put me in the borderlands.”

  “You will have a surprise then. That's for the rest of you too.”

  As grateful as the other escorts were for the warning afterward, they thought he perhaps might have put more weight on it. They hopped over the deputy mayor's lovely fence and relocated forthwith to the guest world, which bore more signs than ever of being so, namely all the guests.

  The uncanny terrain had taken on more verticality since Dirant's prior visit in the form of both hills and a more reasonable altitude for the clouds, and the guests had no patience for it. Dirant noticed the Armor Giants smashing the ground apart with their terrible axes first because he recognized them, but they contributed but a small part to the activity. Guests of every description, or rather hosts there, ran, flew, glided, and squirmed around while deploying whatever weapons or natural destructive abilities they possessed, making the guest world tremble with such force that the tour members looked for a stout tree or conveniently shaped rock to grab. Unfortunately, those had all been demolished prior to their arrival.

  There was the Breakblock, a wagon with a giant spike attached to its front that crashed into the ground repeatedly. Blade Moths flew by, ejecting the metal slivers which constituted their wings to shred the land below, while Diamond Boars charged and tore the terrain with their adamant tusks; no one had yet devised a method to extract those despite the unquestionable value of such a durable material. About the Grief Eater it was better to say nothing. Past them all, appearing in the strange emptiness formerly seen beneath the ground but now surrounding it on every side was the colossal Threshold Dragon, a guest every true Symbol Knight yearned to invite if only as evidence of having a huge number of Guest Points. Dirant guessed all those based on a book about guests he read.

  Unfortunately, he fell through the devastated earth before he could consult Mr. Gabdirn on the specifics. Either unfortunately or fortunately, but without question disturbingly, from his lower and quickly lowering vantage point he perceived that the guests, as zealous and capable as they were, were removing terrain slower than it reappeared. Just by a tiny bit, but households which permit their spending to run ahead of their income to a similar degree end in ruin. A professional faller would have noticed more, but Dirant was content to remain an amateur.

  Hwohyesu and his escorts landed in what had become the city district. The reasons for concluding that were, first, precedent, and second, the number of bathhouses. The economics of no authentic city could support their unprecedented density, to say nothing of the architectural variety. Evidently Lommad was a collector of layouts from every region and century.

  The experience rattled Mr. Hwohyesu. It had the same effect on the others, but they mattered less. “What an unforeseeable difference! What's responsible?”

  “I can do a guess,” Mr. Gabdirn said. He paused and surveyed the surroundings to ensure no Odibinks were hustling over to argue with him. Since none were, he resumed. “Ertith Energy helps fairies in their world construction. I take that to be a premise we have accepted for the moment. Can they do their construction in the guest world? My suspicion is that they are so able, and are, and the guests are in an outrage about it.”

  “I wouldn't be at all out of sorts if you were right, Mr. Gabdirn, because of your intelligence and learning. That's worrisome. It may even be that they aren't doing it on purpose, but that this is a side-effect of their activities. That may be more worrisome. I may have to stop supporting Ishtu. Let me be undone if I act dishonorably, but it may fall out that I depart.”

  Hwohyesu and Gabdirn discussed the matter with a seriousness which supported the decisions of those Symbol Knights even then heading for ocean ports, yet their dispassionate speculation suggested such actions might safely be deferred until a later period. Reassured in that regard, Medant ushered the group back to the real world with the aid of Erjjub, who had expressed a desire to become a professional fairy tour guide, and then to the terrible hills some distance from Cowsick Point. He reasoned that the chance of coming across inadvertent witnesses decreased proportionally with distance to the nearest paved road.

  There the experts worked out exactly what insights they had to enrich Mr. Atkosol, of which there were few, and their advice based on them, which was to hurry up. “That is worthless to say since he has done all in his vast capacity, and so far men like me have been an obstacle,” Mr. Hwohyesu admitted. On that basis he committed himself to persuading as many of the humans and even fairies in Ishtu's kingdom as he could to give up the fight in order to expedite a resolution. By then, the sun was approaching the horizon with the determined step of the man of business on his way to beg his uncle for a loan.

  After ensuring and subsequently re-ensuring the two scholars had concluded their scholarship, Guard-Captain Medant declared an end to the outing. Erjjub returned Hwohyesu to the mountain while the escorts split up to go whithersoever they would in the inconspicuous fashion of people with nothing to say to reporters.